


plus le temps passe

by klytaemnestra (klytae)



Series: Midgar Blues - A Collection of Shinra Noir [2]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:00:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26387575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klytae/pseuds/klytaemnestra
Summary: Rufus stares down at the after image of headlights on the streets below, the misting rain filling the night sky with a dull green haze, the city that one day shall be his provided he lives long enough, how this Turk, and all those like him will serve him.
Relationships: Rufus Shinra/Tseng
Series: Midgar Blues - A Collection of Shinra Noir [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1915873
Comments: 5
Kudos: 52





	plus le temps passe

It begins at the opera. Some appropriately melodramatic fare of forbidden love that will surely end in double suicide, madness or both. The box is private, draped in crimson velvet. Rufus Shinra sits with a pretty girl at his side, and his Turk at his back. It’s only expected that Midgar’s most eligible bachelor be seen in the company of powerful, elegant, bright young women, even if she seems as bored with this charade as he. Her name is Indra Vlondett, the heiress to a weapon’s conglomerate, graced with her mother’s looks, dark eyes and sleek bobbed hair, and her father’s calculating shrewdness, her maternal ties to the elite Kisaragi family making her an ideal if undesired match.

It’s all for show, Indra’s predilection for the fairer sex, a girlfriend from the slums. Rufus chooses not to ask the details of her private life. They make a lovely pair, the two of them here together, Rufus all in white, and she in understated black, crimson lips curving into a smile as she continues on with their banter.

‘I know you’re being fucked by someone.’

‘Quiet, you’ll start a scandal.’

‘You know my secret, what’s yours?’ Her tone is low, conspiratorial.

‘I am not.’

‘If you weren’t you wouldn’t endure these little outings, Rufus. We all know that.’ A lady bedecked in too many jewels shoots them a nasty look from the adjacent box, as Indra flashes her the most charmingly condescending smile.

‘It’s no one.’ Rufus breaths, though there is a tell there in the way he tosses his head ever so slightly.

‘Tseng?’ She laughs in a manner that suggests she’s wholly unsurprised, turning in her seat to assess the Turk’s slim silhouette. ‘I suppose he’s all right.’ Tseng straightens under her sudden scrutiny. He is not one to pry on their private conversations, but he seems to simply _know_ that he’s the topic of their discourse.

‘We’re not--’ Rufus pauses for a moment, uncommonly made vulnerable by her suggestion. ‘Not together.’ _Not truly._ It had begun as such a simple thing.

Tseng is a looming shadow in the doorway of his apartment, a bodyguard or spy, he’s not entirely sure which, as if the difference might matter. Set upon him by Veld. He supposes he should be grateful for the companionship, and as Tseng enters his apartment he thinks of a time some years before when a rookie Turk had taken consideration of him, in quiet fleeting moments that seem nearly a lifetime past, and how he had thought then perhaps he might be afforded an honest friend.

He does not ask why Tseng did not meet him that evening, knows all too well that whatever might have once occurred between them did not, and as he stares at this Turk in the shadows something has shifted. He asked him once had he killed before, and knows with a certainty that he has. The young man who stands before him now is a predator, deadly efficient, as skillful with his hands as he is with his pistol, he has become the killer Rufus has always known he was destined to be, and that makes this scenario suddenly all the more intriguing.

Rufus is unused to the company, he stays up late, and rises even later. And the first morning he finds Tseng standing in his living room, gloved hands folded neatly at the small of his back, he makes a hasty retreat to retrieve his robe. When he emerges a few moments later, Tseng is unruffled, as if he’d not seen his employer’s only legitimate son fully nude.

‘I didn’t expect you to let yourself in.’ Rufus admits later as he makes himself something to take the edge off a lingering hangover.

‘Does it bother you, Sir?’ Always the professional, asking Rufus’ opinion even if he knows that Tseng is here on orders.

No. He has to admit that it does not. ‘I’m not accustomed to guests.’ _Spies_ , his mind mentally corrects.

Something that might be a smile plays upon Tseng’s lips. ‘I will do my best to make sure you’re not taken by surprise in the future, Sir.’

He downs the spicy concoction of egg yolk, and a splash of gin, and sets the glass aside. ‘I’d offer to make coffee, but I suspect you already know I’m not very good at that.’

‘Yes, Sir.’ Tseng’s smile is genuine then, and Rufus finds that the corner of his mouth twists just the slightest, and considers that perhaps having Tseng here is not such a terrible prospect.

For six months he’s endured Tseng’s presence. Rufus is observant enough to know Tseng does not discriminate in sexual partners, a pretty girl as welcome as a young man even if the Turk is fastidious in his discretion. He thinks of Tseng there at his back, and wants.

They exchange a chaste kiss at the end of the night, Indra pulls away with a knowing look before slipping into a dark sedan, chauffeured off to her flat a few blocks away. 

‘Take me away from here.’ Rufus sighs, and turns to stare out the window. ‘I don’t want to go home, just drive.’

Though Midgar is a city most alive at night, this street is abandoned, lamps haloed in the misting rain, reflecting against the asphalt. 

‘It’s not my place to ask.’ As if that has ever stopped Tseng.

Rufus looks off, searching for the right words. ‘I don’t like Miss Vlondett, not like that. Not like my old man thinks … or expects I should.’ He makes a noise that's not quite a laugh at his own admission. ‘You’re welcome to tell him if you think that’s your duty. I don’t suspect it could damage his opinion of me any further.’ His voice grows very quiet then. ‘I’ll always be a disappointment.’

When Tseng does not answer, Rufus makes another soft sound low in his throat, at his own foolishness in this, to have told the man set upon him as a spy and allowed his defenses to slip.

Tseng turns down another street, leather wrapped steering wheel sliding smoothly through gloved hands, dark eyes unreadable and focused on the road ahead. ‘That makes no difference to me, Sir. And if you’ll forgive me in saying, I’ve long suspected your inclinations.’

‘Have you?’ Rufus turns then to look at Tseng through the darkness.

‘I wouldn’t be very good at my job if I didn’t know your secrets, Sir.’ Rufus expects to see that wry little hint of a smile, but Tseng is apparently in no mood to make quips about this particular aspect of Rufus Shinra’s often surprisingly mundane life.

‘Hn, suppose not.’

Tseng does not respond to this either, making another turn, and slows the car. And for the briefest of moments Rufus thinks, hopes, wishes, dreams that Tseng might lean in, closing the space between their bodies and kiss him.

‘Sir. Your secrets are safe with me.’ And Rufus wants to believe him, that he can trust this deadly, dangerous predator whom his father pays to kill and intimidate and extort.

When they return back to Rufus’ rooms that night, he hesitates at the door, thinks on what he’s about to ask and finds the right words failing him. ‘Would you stay?’

'Sir?’

Rufus shakes his head with a little self deprecating laugh, ‘I didn’t mean that. I was wondering if you’d join me for a drink. A proper drink.’

Tseng acquiesces with the slightest nod.

During their time together, Rufus has never seen Tseng drink. He knows that he must, and has on more than one occasion smelled the faintest hint of whiskey on him after a late night. He sheds his dinner jacket in a drape of white fabric, before moving toward the bar. He has a certain talent for mixology, though he opts to pour them each a glass of some expensive bourbon from Kalm. ‘Cheers.’ Rufus watches the way Tseng’s lips curve against the rim of the glass, and swallows a mouthful of amber liquor before turning away abruptly to peer out over the city.

He envisions what it might feel like were Tseng to move behind him to pull him into his arms. Would he be hard with want, what might he do to Rufus were he to ask. He considers if Tseng would deny him were he to drop to his knees before him, and offer him the pleasures of his mouth, he thinks of the taste of Tseng, the scent of him, and nearly sways with the headiness of desire, one hand reaching out to brace himself against the glass as he feels Tseng’s steadying touch at his back.

‘Sir?’

Rufus closes his eyes, resting his head against the cool glass, and not for the first time considering the fall.

‘I’m just tired.’

‘I should go, then.’

‘No.’ He stares down at the after image of headlights on the streets below, the misting rain filling the night sky with a dull green haze, the city that one day shall be his provided he lives long enough, how this Turk, and all those like him will serve him. He downs the remaining liquor in a gulp, savouring the way it burns its way down his throat. 

He draws in a shuddering breath, noticing how the hand at his back lingers, and dismisses it at nothing more than protocol, until it slides lower, along his spine, and the curve of his ass.

He reaches back to close his hand over Tseng’s, and when the Turk does not pull away, he guides it toward his hip. Tseng’s breath is hot against his neck as he feels his body move flush against his own. Rufus dares hardly breathe as he feels Tseng hard against him, the way Tseng moves their hands to cup Rufus’ own erection. A gloved hand slips inside, fingers curling around his length, head still pressed against the window, Rufus focuses on the way gloved fingers play along his cock. No words pass between them as Tseng works him toward release, and when Rufus comes too soon, he chokes back a soft cry and slumps forward.

He hears the soft rustle of fabric behind him, the sound of the glass being set aside, and waits in quiet anticipation until he hears the familiar sound of his lock disengaging, Tseng leaving him alone here in the darkness.

A breach of protocol.

Rufus showers, dresses in nothing more than a silken robe, and wanders the shadowy rooms of his apartment, a glass of cut crystal in hand. And as he stares out into the night sky beyond this place, he thinks of what he would do were he given the opportunity to truly have Tseng in his bed.

Tseng does not come to him the following day, and Rufus spends much of it restless. He’s not realized how very accustomed he is to Tseng’s presence until he is made to go without the quiet droll humour. And when Tseng does not return that evening, Rufus finds himself irritable. He’s rarely let outside the Shinra building without an escort, but tonight he wants to find a bar somewhere and drink expensive alcohol until he’s too numb to care, and then have someone drive him back to his glass tower. He thinks what it might be like to disappear into the crowds, to find a beautiful man who would touch him as Tseng has, but who would not have the discretion or trepidation to stop when Rufus asks for more. He thinks of being fucked hard in some alleyway, or taken to the suite of a luxury hotel, laid out bare across crisp white sheets and debauched until dawn. He’d never make it past the front door.

He thinks to Veld, how he might request a Turk to take him out into the city. The hour is still early even as nightfall settles over Midgar, and the skyline lights up like fireflies. Could he lose a Turk long enough to find someone who wouldn’t care who he is, would think of him as nothing more than a pretty face. He calls the office of Administrative Research, and hopes his voice doesn’t sound desperate as he asks for a bodyguard so that he might venture out into the city. He dials up another number once his request has been made.

‘What could you possibly want?’ The voice teases from across the line.

‘I need a favour.’

It’s a smokey nightclub in Sector 8 filled with Midgar’s most elite, well dressed young men, stylish women, jewels and champagne sparkling in the soft lighting as a jazz singer croons. The Turk is one he doesn’t know, a young man with spiky red hair, and a demeanour that is far more relaxed than Tseng’s, and Rufus finds that suits him just fine. His orders are to watch but not impose, Rufus can’t have any fun if a Turk is too close by to cramp his style.

Indra Vlondett enters the club, adorned in strands of Wutaian pearls, dressed in white. And when she leans in to give Rufus a peck on the cheek, she reaches a hand over to a stunning redhead. The girlfriend.

They are seated at a table not far from the dance floor, and Indra orders them a bottle of champagne before they’re even properly settled, seemingly jubilant at the excuse to spend a night on the town with her lover. And after a few glasses of champagne, she glides onto the dance floor unconcerned with what others might say as she winds arms about her girlfriend’s neck.

Rufus scans the club with light eyes, watching the couples sway to the lilting music of love and loss in Midgar. He settles his gaze on a secluded table near the back. A pretty blonde man being kissed by a dark hair lover, and thinks of what it might be like to have the quiet luxury of someone seeing him for more than his father’s name. He sips his champagne, and curses himself for watching this private moment. When he looks again, he realizes he’s being watched back, by dark unreadable eyes.

_Shiva, fuck._

Rufus is on his feet in an instant, torn between anger, rage at some sort of betrayal, guilt, his own intentions of finding someone to fuck him, while Tseng, Tseng is here with someone else. The Turk is already halfway across the club by the time Rufus disentangles himself from the white table cloth.

‘Sir.’ A gloved hand around his wrist.

‘Let go of me.’

And then he’s out on the street, the cold blast of night air against his face as he slips into the crowd.

‘Rufus.’

He whips around, blonde hair tumbling into his eyes. And for a moment it’s as if they’re on that rooftop once more, years before, and a lifetime ago.

‘Sir. You shouldn’t be out here.’

‘Are you concerned?’ There’s the biting jealousy, how _dare_ Tseng.

Tseng stares at him, and Rufus awaits the usual platitudes of duty and protocol and loyalty, he is the President’s son.

The arms that pull him close are possessive, and as Tseng moves to cup his chin to tilt him just so, Rufus breathes in a shuddering breath before Tseng’s mouth closes over his own. Rufus responds in kind, mouth parting to accept his tongue as he clings tightly to Tseng’s lapels to keep himself from collapsing beneath the gravity of this moment between them. They part briefly, eyes locked as Tseng traces his thumb in an ungentle line along Rufus’ lips, unconcerned with who might see. They are simply a pair of nameless, faceless beings among the throng, and as the steam rises about them, he leans in to kiss Rufus once more, thoroughly and passionately, as if he’s been longing to taste those lips with the same intensity and desire and need as Rufus.

‘Take me back.’ Rufus sighs against Tseng’s ear, body pressed close with need. ‘Take me. Take me.’

Tseng considers for a moment having Rufus there in his car, braced against the fine leather seats; one of them must practice control, and so when he kisses Rufus once before sliding into the driver’s seat, he does so with the promise of more, but that they must be patient. They kiss again in the shadows of the parking garage just out of view of security cameras. It’s a short ride up the side of the Shinra building, glass elevator giving them an unobstructed view of the city. They do not touch here, too much of a liability to be seen, standing on formality and protocol until they are safely inside Rufus’ apartment.

Tseng’s eyes smoulder with something that Rufus takes for lust.

‘Are you certain?’

‘Yes.’ There is no hesitation as Rufus looks into Tseng’s eyes. ‘Now kiss me.’

Tseng mouths at his collarbone before burying his face in the fine golden strands of Rufus’ hair, inhaling the lingering scent of cologne, rosemary, bergamot, lavender, and spice, hands sliding possessively over fragile shoulders. ‘You’ve done this before?’

‘I’ve never found the occasion.’ Rufus looks vaguely concerned at the admission, but Tseng is unsurprised that someone as closely guarded and sheltered as Rufus has not had the opportunity to sleep around.

‘Do you trust me? Tseng asks, hand slipping lower to rest against his ass.

‘I don’t know.’

They kiss again, Tseng’s hands moving beneath Rufus’ jacket, pushing the white fabric from his shoulders. Tseng works at Rufus’ trousers, and he cannot contain the soft groan he makes when he sees him there hard and straining before him, he touches him again, this time with a certain familiarity, enjoying the weight of Rufus’ cock in his hand. And when he frees his own Rufus gasps sharply, hand reaching out to take it.

‘Shiva, Tseng.’ For all his lack of experience, Rufus makes up in enthusiasm, and he’s halfway to his knees before Tseng halts him.

‘No.’ When Rufus looks up at him, Tseng continues, hand stroking along the side of Rufus’ face. ‘Not like that, not tonight.’

Rufus rises, presses their lips together, hand still on Tseng’s cock, thinks of him inside and sighs a single word. And Tseng has to practice all his restraint. ‘You know how this goes, yes.’

Rufus nods.

‘It’ll be easier from behind.’ Tseng advises, and when slick fingers slip inside he makes a sound that’s nearly a whimper. It hurts, just a little, but as Tseng stretches him, he begins to writhe just barely beneath the touch.

He braces himself up against the expansive glass windows, staring down on the city below, and draws in a shaky breath as he feels something hard and wet and hot brushing against him, Tseng carefully guiding his aching cock into Rufus. And for a moment it’s almost too much, eyes screwed shut, breath coming in short gasps as he’s stretched around the length, and when he feels Tseng slide home, settled deep, the neat dark patch of hair tickling against his ass, he exhales all at once.

Tseng soothes him, a hand reaching around to take Rufus in hand as he rests the other alongside the window. ‘Tell me if it’s too much.’

‘No.’ Rufus’ voice is low, and falters just the slightest. There’s a sweetness in that pain, and as Rufus adjusts to the cock hard inside him, he rocks back onto it with a cry. Tseng thrusts gently at first, as if to gauge Rufus, and when he begins to moan in earnest, the pain turning to something more, he begins to rock his hips more forcefully into the yielding heat eliciting moans and soft little mewls of desire. And thinks what might make Rufus scream.

Tseng angles his hips a bit, hand stroking Rufus’ cock with each movement, as concerned with giving pleasure as receiving. If he is, indeed, Rufus’ first, he intends to make it a memorable experience, his own first time having been a quickie at far too young an age in a shower stall with a boy he’d thought he’d have a future with. A boyfriend whose face he can barely remember. And after that, a missed opportunity with a rookie who’d never made it out of training alive, Tseng finds it’s easier to pay for sex. But here with Rufus Shinra bent over taking everything Tseng can give him this night, he thinks how this has its own appeal.

The sound that escapes Rufus’ lips is nearly a shout. Tseng slows, then nails that spot again with a well timed thrust. A hand flies up to grasp at Tseng’s forearm. Something that sounds a lot like, ‘Please, please, please.’ slides from Rufus, and Tseng is happy to oblige, zeroing in on that bundle of sensitive nerves that will turn Rufus into a pleading mess.

Rufus is moaning and sobbing and panting, breath misting against the window. It’s simply too much, and when Tseng strokes his hand along his cock once more, his vision goes white, coming all over Tseng’s hand and the glass with a sharp cry. The sound itself is nearly enough to send Tseng over the edge, who after a few more erratic thrusts, spills himself deep inside. They still against the windows, Tseng’s body pressed heavily against Rufus as they regain their bearings, hearts racing, breath ragged. Lips find Rufus’ temple before Tseng steadies them both, and when Rufus turns to look back at him with lust blown eyes, smoothes a hand through tousled hair, for the first time since their lips touched this feels wrong.

For someone who prides himself in his professionalism, and self control--

‘I wanted it.’ There is no doubt in that voice. ‘I wanted you. Stop standing there and kiss me again.’ Rufus’ tone is so very serious as if this were some meeting with his father’s board of directors and not a clandestine tryst, that Tseng cannot conceal the smallest of smiles at the request. He will command armies with that voice some day.

Rufus wraps his arms around Tseng’s neck as he leans in, ‘You know I’m not patient.’

They shower together, soap slick hands exploring. Rufus’ lips find a scar at Tseng’s shoulder, tongue flicking out to trace along the faint silvery mark. And later draped across the sofa, naked bodies pressed close, pleasantly ever so slightly buzzed on expensive liquor, Rufus asks about it.

A mission some years ago. Tseng remembers the exact date in early January, and when Rufus settles back on his elbow for a moment, he asks, ‘What?’

Rufus makes a soft noise that sounds a lot like a laugh, but there is no humour in it. ‘So that’s what happened.’

‘Sir?’

‘Rufus.’ He corrects.

‘Rufus.’

‘We had a date, you know.’ He leans forward again, tracing the scar with his finger, and considers what might have been had they had the chance to have met that cold winter’s evening, but such is the way of love and loss in Midgar.

When Rufus wakes, he is alone, Tseng having left sometime during the night, the only sign that he has been there is the indention in the pillow, the bedcovers smoothed and straightened. Rufus turns and buries his face in the pillow breathing in the lingering scent of Tseng's hair, and wonders what will have changed between them now that morning has arrived. He doesn't regret it, desires Tseng as strongly as he did the previous night. Now that he’s had a taste of Tseng’s cock, he wants more. And as he stretches out across his bed, the scent of him all around, Rufus begins to touch himself. It’s not the same. He trails his other hand lower, probing teasingly against the tight ring of muscle, and slips a finger inside. And when he comes, he thinks of how he’ll have to invest in something larger for his own self gratification when Tseng is not around.

He places a discreet order that morning, light eyes peering over his computer monitor when he hears his apartment door sliding open at exactly 11 AM. He’s nearly giddy at the prospect of Tseng being here, though he tells himself that he will be dignified, rehearses the carefully selected words in his head, and promptly nearly trips over himself as he rushes toward the door.

Rufus stops dead in his tracks.

_Veld._

‘Forgive the intrusion, Sir.’ There’s a slight nod to his head, and Rufus begins to envision any manner of reason _he_ of all people might be here, and all of them begin with ‘a breach of protocol’ or ‘gross misconduct’.

Rufus steps back, suddenly thankful that he’s had the foresight to dress, and didn’t practically fling himself into Veld’s arms in nothing but his robe. He folds his arms across his chest, icy demeanour sliding into place. ‘Did you need something?’ Their relationship isn’t quite strained, he likes Veld well enough, the man has always shown him a kindness none of his father’s lackeys ever bothered with, but he doesn’t necessarily trust him. He is a spy afterall, and Rufus knows what his father sometimes asks of those spies.

‘Tseng’s presence was required elsewhere today.’ Veld begins, moving further into the apartment, polished shoes clicking against white marble tiles with each step.

Rufus gives a toss of his head, and inches backwards, chin lifted high as if challenging Veld.

‘Forgive me for not stopping by earlier. I’m afraid time isn’t a luxury of mine at the present.’ He stops, seeming to take in Rufus’ rigid posture, the line of his shoulders, a slight sneer on those lips. ‘I wanted to see how you were taking to Tseng. I know it’s an unfamiliar presence, Sir. But it’s for your safety. And truthfully, I thought you might benefit from the company.’ There’s a smile there, and Rufus almost laughs, out of relief, irony, the sheer absurdity of this all.

‘Ah, yes. Tseng.’ Rufus thinks to the previous night, Tseng fucking him against the window, and he does laugh then. ‘I suppose he’s as good a spy as any, Veld.’

‘Sir.’

‘I know what he is and why he’s here, and you may tell my father what I’ve told Tseng. _If_ I was trying to overthrow him, which I’m not, I certainly wouldn’t be careless enough to let a Shinra attack dog in on it.’

Veld’s eyes are unreadable in the same manner as Tseng’s, and Rufus questions if they’re all like this, each Turk trained to be seemingly emotionless, ruthless killers wearing masks of indifference. Except for that one last night, the one with the unnaturally dyed hair, who he realizes now he had left in that club in Sector 8, who had he been doing his job, would have seen them leave together. Rufus turns. Whatever that Turk has seen, he has not told Veld. At least, not yet.

‘If you need an official assessment, Tseng is very professional, and extremely proficient at his job.’ In truth, he hasn’t minded Tseng in the least, even before their encounters turned to something decidedly less professional. And yet, Rufus worries that if he were to let on too much, that he truly has enjoyed Tseng’s presence, as a companion if nothing else, he might be taken away.

Veld nods. ‘I may see about having him placed as your permanent bodyguard, Sir. He’s one of my best, and I believe a certain loyalty would benefit you both.’

Rufus thinks on those words throughout the afternoon as he wanders around his apartment like a restless coeurl. There is an advantage to having an alliance with a Turk, and Rufus considers how one day, provided Tseng lives long enough, he may well rise to the role of director, that no matter what transpires between them now, to have him as a loyal ally. Veld merely serves his father’s company. Rufus suspects there is no true loyalty outside of what is owed to those under his command. To have a Turk loyal to him, at his side, and in his bed would make him formidable, indeed.

It is late when Tseng appears in Rufus’ doorway. They’re kissing before he can even get past the threshold, Rufus all teeth and tongue, and when he pushes him to the floor, he takes Tseng’s cock into his mouth. For all his lack at experience, he has a certain talent for sucking cock, and as Tseng lays there staring up at the ceiling, hands tangled in silken strands, the only sounds the ragged intake of breath as he thrusts shallowly into the wet heat, Rufus begins to understand the balance of control and surrender.

When it is over, Rufus lays sprawled across the floor, a joint in hand, listening to soft music as he savours the slight buzz in his head. He can taste Tseng on his tongue, lingering, melding with smoke, and Kupo Kush, some strain from the Corel region. He offers Tseng a hit, and lifts light eyebrows when he plucks the joint from tapered fingers and takes a long drag.

‘I didn’t know if it went against protocol.’ Rufus muses.

‘I’m trained in familiarity with most substances. It required a rather … hands on experience.’

Rufus laughs around another lungful of smoke, before pushing himself upright once more. The city seems more alive, the horizon twinkling. ‘We should go up to the roof.’

It’s a terrible suggestion, but Tseng makes little in the way of protest. At this hour not even Tuesti is still in the office, and when they slip out onto the helipad together, Tseng winds his arms around Rufus’ waist and kisses him in the shadows. At 70 stories high, the Shinra building is the tallest structure on Gaia, set even higher up on the plate. The communication tower above the roof provides the ultimate view. It’s a precarious climb, but Rufus used to sneak out here when younger to find solitude and respite, and when they reach the top, he takes it all in, unconcerned with the biting chill. ‘This will be mine.’ He announces, and the smile on his face is genuine as he looks over Midgar, the city that he will rule. He turns to Tseng then. ‘It will be ours.’

He lights another joint, settling against the cold steel structure, Tseng at his side, and as they pass it between themselves, Rufus reaches out a hand to thread icy fingers together.

_Ours._

The word thrills Rufus.

_Fin_


End file.
